Page 3 of Bad Boys Don’t Date Clumsy Girls

Chapter Two

A loud crash shakes the walls of my bedroom. I cringe, then scramble to catch my bulletin board before it loses its grip on the tiny nail in the wall and tumbles to the floor. I close my eyes, the drama downstairs playing in my mind like an old movie.

Similar scenes between Mom and Grandma have been all too common in our house over the years, so it’s easy to imagine why Mom stormed out this time. On one hand, I’m glad she’s gone because the shouting will stop, and I’ll be able to think again. On the other hand, it’s after five o’clock, so she’ll probably head to the bar and end up drunk. I’m terrified that one day she won’t make it home. Or worse, someone else won’t make it home because Mom was driving drunk.

With a sigh, I stuff a long-sleeved t-shirt into a duffle bag for tomorrow and check to make sure the first aid kit that lives in my purse is fully replenished. With a start, I remember to grab a clean pair of socks. I always forget socks. I laugh to myself thinking of Bek. My fairy-like bestie who often forgets to bring pajamas and ends up drowning in an old t-shirt of Sam’s. My other bestie is an amazon compared to Bek. Really, Bek and I should just leave half of our wardrobe at Sam’s house since we spend every weekend there.

Another slam. The basement door. Grandma.

I barely remember life without Grandma anymore. She moved in shortly after Dad walked out on us. I was in second grade. Joel was in third. Grandma renovated the basement into an apartment for herself. At first, I loved having her around. Joel and I finally got fed something besides macaroni and cheese or frozen pizza for dinner. Grandma never forgot me at school for hours after the final bell. I didn’t have to go to school in dirty clothes anymore. Though the kids at school continued to tease me long after my clothes stopped smelling.

But then the bickering started. Grandma pestered Mom to quit drinking and smoking or to get a better job than night clerk at a convenience store. Then she accused Mom of neglecting me and Joel, of drinking at work, and wasting what little money she made on liquor. The bickering escalated into shouting. Mom resorted to name-calling and accusations, though I don’t know what Grandma supposedly did that turned Mom into a garbage human. Grandma isn’t the cookie baking, hugs-for-all type of grandmother you see on television, but so far, she hasn’t driven Joel and me to drink.

I glance at the wall calendar as if looking at it will get me any closer to high school graduation. I have two months left of junior year. In one year and two months, I’ll graduate high school and will be able to move out. Joel, a senior, already plans to move out with friends after graduation. They don’t have any solid plans yet, but I’m so envious of him. I hope wherever he ends up, he lets me hang out in his apartment. A lot.

My phone dings, alerting me of a new text message. I glance down and smile. From the variety of emojis—heart eyes, pulsing heart, cupid’s arrow—it’s obvious that Sam is in love again. Bek’s wide-eyed emoji response makes me laugh out loud. Only Bek can get away with giving Sam a hard time over a new boyfriend. I open my text message and reply with a simple heart, choosing my favorite color, yellow, because I love my two best friends more than anything. I don’t care that Samantha Jones is a serial dater or that Rebekah Alli is flighty. They have been there for me through all the horrible, toxic years.

Bek: How can you already know you like him so much?

Sam: What do you mean already?

Bek: You’ve gone on one date. Combined w/visits at the park you’ve spent, like 5 hours total with him? Isn’t it too soon to tell?

Sam: You wait. You’ll understand as soon as Cupid hits you with your first arrow.

Bek: I doubt that.

Me: I’ll be thirty years old by then. Love is not in my high school graduation plan.

Sam: It’s not like love is ever planned, Ava!

Bek: Ava, I’m with you. Love can wait.

Sam: You’re crazy. You’ll both have to admit defeat before we graduate.

I look up at a picture of the three of us pinned to my bulletin board, standing arm-in-arm in stairstep order, and wonder how they would describe me. Animal lover, maybe, because I volunteer at the shelter? Manic depressive, perhaps, because I spend at least an hour each week sobbing or screaming about my life? Yeah, probably that. Bek and Sam are the only two people in the world I’ve opened up to about my situation. After—what has it been, nine years?—they’re probably tired of hearing about it and just don’t know how to tell me to get over it.

Another text dings.

Bek: What’s this guy’s name?

Sam: Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna call him hot lips!

Me: Sam!

Sam: I’m kidding! It’s Andrew. I’ll tell you all about him when you guys get here. Why aren’t you here yet??????

Bek: On my way.

A knock rattles my bedroom door. Joel’s voice is muffled through the wood. “If you want a ride, we have to go now.”

I type and say, “Coming,” at the same time.

Slinging the strap of my duffle bag over my shoulder, I transfer the “IN” sign from the outside doorknob to the knob on the inside and jog downstairs. Misjudging my speed, I open the front door right into my face. Blinking away tears, I let the door slam behind me.

I collapse into the passenger seat of Joel’s car and shove my bag onto the floor at my feet and pull my seatbelt on.

“Ready?” he asks, as he drops the gearshift into reverse.

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